


Impossibilities

by lucymaybelle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Idiots in Love, Infidelity, Inspired by..., M/M, Pining, Post-Break Up, Post-Hogwarts, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 07:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23347771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymaybelle/pseuds/lucymaybelle
Summary: In which Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are reunited at Luna Lovegood's housewarming party and decide to give this whole friendship thing a try, likely against their better judgment. The pair continuously find their way back to each other despite tumultuous relationships, disapproving friends, engagements, and a trip to Portugal gone awry... but are they setting themselves up for heartbreak in the end?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood & Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood/Rolf Scamander
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76





	Impossibilities

“Oh bloody pestering buggerfuck,” Harry swore, tripping over himself on the stairs, nearly dropping the bottle of mead he’d brought as a housewarming gift for Luna. 

Not for the first time this evening, he thought about turning right back around. He heaved a sigh, nervously straightening out his jacket and collar, and gave himself a quick pep-talk. This was the first party Harry had been to since the breakup, and while he could admit it wasn’t exactly fresh, he still hated arriving alone.

Steeling himself, he opened the door to the flat and was immediately bombarded by laughter and horrible 80’s dance music. Typical Luna. He scanned the room for his friends, recognizing a few faces here and there, but mostly finding strangers.

“Guess it’s time for a drink,” Harry muttered to himself, wondering if it was bad form to drink his own housewarming gift. 

Earlier that night he’d sat on the fire escape of his flat, thinking about how stupid it was for him to keep avoiding parties on the off-chance Ginny would be there. It was almost a given she’d be at anything he was invited to, unless she was traveling with the Harpies. It also seemed stupid to still be pining away for someone who clearly had no problem moving on. She’d ended things around a year ago, though it wasn’t a clean break. The aftermath was peppered with various instances of what Harry referred to as “backsliding,” wherein they’d get together for a chat, Harry would beg her to reconsider, and they’d inevitably end up sleeping together. 

It had been so hard for him to let Ginny go that Ron and Hermione eventually staged an intervention. Harry cringed in discomfort at the memory. He’d stopped seeing her then, mostly out of embarrassment, and became so committed to avoidance it became the norm. And thus began the season of Harry Potter rarely leaving his flat, save work and the occasional drink with Ron and Hermione. 

Tonight, however, he’d decided enough was enough. He’d turned down as many invitations in the last six months to last a lifetime, and Ginny certainly wasn’t turning any down from what he could tell. So when he got the owl from Luna about a party at her new flat this weekend, he’d RSVP’d yes with enthusiasm.

In Luna’s kitchen, Harry was pleased he wouldn’t have to face the conundrum of drinking his own gift, impressed by the array of various and sundry beverages. More amusing still was the variety of drinkware. He carefully selected a coffee mug adorned with a mouse holding a daisy next to the words “FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS” in a curly pink font. Smiling, he poured himself some firewhiskey.

“Oh, what fresh hell is this?”

A familiar drawl startled Harry into action. He quickly spun around, sloshing his drink on the already sticky kitchen floor. 

Harry could only stare as an older version of Draco Malfoy stood there, clutching his own mug shaped like a small cauldron with tiny human feet, looking him up and down. He looked like himself, Harry decided, but softer and less scrawny. His long silver hair was pulled into a sleek topknot.

“Nice mug you have there, Potter. Very inspirational.”

“Malfoy, what in Merlin’s arse are you doing here?” Harry managed to get out, eyes wide with surprise.

“From the looks of it, I’d say I’m doing the same thing you are,” Draco offered.

“Which is…?” Harry narrowed his eyes.

“Trying to get another drink so I can feel less uncomfortable. Clearly.”

“Guess that’s true,” Harry admitted, exhaling. “I thought ‘following my dreams’” he gestured to the mug, “might inspire me to try and enjoy this party, but really what my dreams are telling me to do is to go back to my flat, order takeout, and watch the telly with my hand down my pants.”

“Well, that’s inspiring me to… not do that,” Malfoy grimaced. “But I don’t really care for parties either. You must be shocked, paragon of charm that I am.”

“I am a little shocked. I imagine you truly thriving in a debutante’s ball situation.”

Truthfully, Harry was feeling more shocked at the way he and Malfoy had made it through a three-minute conversation without hexing one another.

“Ah yes, well my gown’s being cleaned so I didn’t have the chance to wear it out tonight. Don’t try to hide your disappointment, I can see it in your face,” Malfoy deadpanned. 

Jesus, was Malfoy… charming?

“What a coincidence, so is mine. Probably for the best though. Could have been embarrassing, showing up in the same thing.” Harry grinned and gestured to his outfit, which left something to be desired in comparison to Malfoy’s tailored appearance. Malfoy smirked in response, and Harry’s stomach did an odd sort of backflip.

 _When did Malfoy get so handsome?_ popped into his head, and Harry immediately scolded himself. _What? No, no, no. The ferret is not handsome. You’ve just had too much to drink._ He looked down at his still-full glass and raised an eyebrow, thankful that nobody could hear his internal dialogue.

Just then, Luna swept into the room, interrupting Harry’s conversation with himself. “Oh you found each other!” she exclaimed.

 _Saved by the bell_ , he thought, until Luna pressed on with: “Harry, I’m so glad you decided to come out.” She looked at Draco very seriously. “Harry’s been nursing a broken heart since Ginny left him last year. We’ve hardly seen him at all!” She gave Harry a squeeze as she said this, kissing his cheek. “It’s like he’s been hiding in a little cave of heartbreak and despair.” 

Only Luna could make the fact that he’d been isolating himself due to a damaged ego and failed relationship sound whimsical.

“Nice of you to emerge from your cave, Potter. Aren’t we all so lucky?” Draco mocked, but Harry was relieved to find no edge to his voice.

Harry ignored him. “Thanks for having me out, Luna. You’ve got a great flat.”

Luna beamed. “Draco’s helped me decorate! Isn’t it lovely?”

Draco flushed slightly at this. Taking a glance around, Harry realized he did quite like how the flat had been decorated; the wallpaper that hung in the kitchen was a deep blue baroque pattern with golden stars and moons, the furniture an eclectic mix of mid-century and lived-in comfort. It was, well, nice. Harry looked up at Draco. 

“It looks good,” he offered, unable to think of anything else.

Malfoy gave a nod of recognition, cheeks still pink.

______

Neither Ron, Hermione, nor any other close friends showed up to the party that evening but Harry found he didn’t particularly mind. He and Draco had spent most of the evening chatting, falling into a comfortable rhythm, occasionally poking fun at the more unusual party guests. They’d even affectionately nicknamed one particular cousin of Luna’s “Old Jangles” due to the inordinate amount of silver jewelry dangling from every possible surface of his body, as well as gesticulating wildly while speaking. While they both chatted with other people, the pair typically migrated back towards one another until the night came to a close.

Around midnight, Harry and Draco attempted to say their goodbyes to Luna, who was already quite preoccupied snogging a tawny-skinned boy with long dreadlocks on her couch. Harry couldn’t quite put a finger on his name - Ralph? Rudolph? Something like that. Harry couldn’t deny he was gorgeous though. 

They grabbed their coats and headed for the door, pausing awkwardly in the chilly night air. Harry broke the silence with a question that had been hounding him the entire night.

“Malfoy, I have to ask, when did you and Luna come to be such good friends? I sort of figured she might not want much to do with you after…” Harry paused, choosing his words carefully as to not upset the delicate balance they’d found this night. He was genuinely curious, and Luna hadn’t mentioned their friendship at all. Or maybe he’d just been too busy hiding from the world to take notice.

“I feel like I’m going to be making that up to her forever,” Malfoy sighed. “Not because of her, but I feel horrible and I’m not sure I’ll ever stop. You know, I never wanted any of that. You have to know that.” Malfoy’s eyes met his in a plea. “I started writing to Luna, apologizing at first, and then I found I just liked talking to her. She’s -”

“Unique?” Harry suggested. 

“Forgiving. You’re right though, if I were her I’d want nothing to do with me.” Malfoy looked down at his shoes at this, and Harry felt his heart quiver. It felt like maybe he was seeing Draco Malfoy for the first time, not just the mouthy prat he’d known the entirety of their Hogwarts years. He wasn’t entirely sure if this new, softer version of Malfoy could be real. 

“Luna’s amazing, and she must see something in you. She’s never been one to let the past stand in her way,” Harry said gently. It took everything he had not to reach out to the other man but instead he chose to look down at his own shoes, his trainers an interesting contrast to Malfoy’s polished oxfords.

The two stood in silence until Draco sniffed and declared, “Suppose I’d better be getting back. Blaise will be wondering what’s kept me so long.”

“Oh, are you flatmates, then?” 

“Something like that.” Malfoy was still avoiding Harry’s gaze.

“Something like that?” Harry muttered as realization dawned. “Ah. So you’re- you’re together then?” Harry asked, feeling stupid. He wasn’t sure why he felt so gravely disappointed by this news. He’d had a really good time with Malfoy tonight, but something about this revelation had pulled him back into reality. Malfoy had been living a life outside of Harry’s awareness for a solid seven years; until tonight Harry probably hadn’t even existed in his consciousness. Harry felt the warmth that had been pooling in his stomach fade into something cold and arresting.

“Yes. Going on about four years or so now. Our flat’s just west of here.” Draco paused for a beat, appearing to steel himself. “Look, I know we don’t have the best track record but tonight was… passable. If you wanted to, I don’t know, owl me or something, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh. Right. Er, yeah I could do.” Harry perked up in an attempt to mask his disappointment. “I’ll see you around then, Malfoy. I’m headed that way,” he said, pointing northeast.

“Right. Goodnight, Potter.” Draco turned and headed towards an alley where Harry was fairly certain he’d apparate home. Malfoy didn’t strike him as the type to walk any great distance.

As for Harry, he took his time walking home, leisurely wandering the cobblestone streets and letting his mind wander. He felt mad with frustration that Malfoy had been dancing around the idea of having a boyfriend the entire night. And not only that but sharing a flat together. It felt strangely like he was being led on, but admittedly he’d been out of the game awhile. Reminding himself that this was Malfoy and not some bloke at the pub, Harry decided he was just letting his emotions get the better of him. Additionally, he decided it was for the best not to owl. It was probably pushing his luck to imagine the two of them could be civil to each other for more than one night.

He was so exhausted when he got back home he didn’t even have the energy to feel bitter about returning to an empty flat. He collapsed in a heap on the bed, glasses and clothes still on, falling asleep almost immediately.

______

  
“Where were you two the other night? I had to go to Luna’s all by myself!” Harry demanded over curry with Ron and Hermione.

The pair exchanged guilty looks.

“We’re so sorry, Harry,” Hermione said gently. “We just weren’t sure if you were actually going to go, and we er - got a bit wrapped up.”

“Wrapped up?” Harry wrinkled his nose.

“You know, we were just really _engaged_ in something,” Hermione responded, resting her face in her hands and looking at Harry over the table.

He eyed his friends suspiciously. “Am I missing something here? Is this some sort of double entendre and you’re trying to invite me to learn more about your sex life?” Harry puzzled, feeling rather disturbed. “Because I really don’t need-”

“Mate,” Ron laughed, clapping him on the shoulder, “relax. We’re getting married. We got engaged on Saturday.” He was practically beaming, cheeks glowing deep pink and accentuating his freckles. They both looked so fucking happy.

Harry nearly dropped his spoon, mouth flying open.

“What? Holy shit! You- you’re - this is great! What are we doing here? Why aren’t we drinking champagne on a rooftop somewhere?”

Harry couldn’t deny he was overcompensating for the ever-so-slight sinking feeling in his chest. He was excited and happy for them, honestly… but he couldn’t help feeling this was the end of an era. A true marker of adulthood, and one he couldn’t say he was ready for himself. 

Harry grabbed Hermione’s ring hand and studied it in the low restaurant light. It was simple and understated; perfect. He felt his happiness and pride swell, and thought perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to ignore his feelings, at least for the rest of the night.

“It’s beautiful, Hermione. How did it happen?”

She blushed. “We were getting ready to go to Luna’s party, and it was such a clear night we decided we’d walk there. We were walking by these beautiful magnolia bushes and the moon was making everything glow, and Ron said he couldn’t wait anymore. He got down on one knee, right there in the street!” Tears were sparkling in her eyes at the memory. 

“I can’t believe I waited this long now it’s over with. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.” Ron looked proud and patted Hermione’s hand.

“Good on you, mate. Good on both of you.” Harry smiled and tilted his glass to his friends.

They sat in contented silence for a minute until Hermione piped up. “Oh Harry, you were going to tell us about Luna’s party?”

“Oh. That. Well it doesn’t seem that important now,” Harry said. He genuinely meant it. Whatever sort of would-be friendship Harry had struck up with Malfoy for one night paled in comparison to this evening’s events. 

“Don’t be silly. Did you at least have a good time?”

“I… did. I actually spent most of the night talking to Draco Malfoy.” Harry could hardly believe the words as he was saying them.

As shocked as they were by this new development, both Ron and Hermione seemed to take it in stride. Hermione shared she found Draco to be intelligent and thorough, having worked with him on several cases at the Ministry. Ron was less complimentary but appeared to soften to the idea of Malfoy with Hermione’s encouragement. Harry reasoned he must have been basking in his newly-engaged glow and clearly wasn’t thinking straight.

“Well, are you going to see him again?” Hermione studied Harry’s face. For his part, he wanted to play his cards close to the vest, unsure of how he was feeling. He still felt a small sting of jealousy when he thought of those intimate moments in Luna’s flat... Or at least they’d felt intimate to him.

“No. Not if I can help it.”

“But he asked you! You have to admit it’s been a while since you’ve made any new friends, especially since the...” Hermione caught herself before she finished. Both she and Ron tiptoed around discussing his breakup with Ginny, and scarcely even used the word. “Anyway,” she waved her hand in dismissal, “I think it would be good for you.”

Ron had apparently had enough of this foolishness. “Are you all mad? Why don’t we just invite the tosser to the wedding while we’re at it?”

Ah, this Harry could tolerate; at least he and Ron spoke the same language when it came to fisticuffs. Insult me once? Shame on you. Insult me many times over seven years, and not speak to me for nearly seven years after that? It’s on sight.

“Would that be the _worst_ thing?” Hermione asked, once again met with the perplexed stares of her counterparts. She put her hands up, mimicking surrender. “Alright, alright. No Malfoys at the wedding.” 

_____

  
The bookshop was Harry’s secret treasure. He went there on days he was particularly sad, or particularly happy, depending on which he needed to experience more or less of. He loved wandering the aisles, reading the inscriptions on the insides of the used covers, names scribbled hastily in ink, notes to loved ones, almost always making up a story to go along with them. He could feel the residual magic in some of the books crackling in the air alongside the smell of brewing coffee from the cafe next door. He delighted in the dust and scent of aging paper, a constant when he felt slightly unbalanced.

Today, escaping the rain and still processing his feelings about Ron and Hermione’s engagement, he found solace in the pages of an old muggle cookbook. He thumbed through the pages, imagining that these might have been some of the dishes his mother grew up on. Nostalgia, bitter and tender at once, licked at his heart and mind like waves. He couldn’t help imagining what his life could have been at times like this; maybe his emotions wouldn’t run so hot and ruthless if he’d had someone to talk to growing up, or even now.

In the back of his consciousness, he’d heard the footsteps but chose to ignore them, thinking it must be another patron or the kindly shopkeeper. He thumbed through the pages, lost in a fantasy. If Luna were there, she’d say his head was full of wrackspurts - or was it nargles?

“We can’t keep meeting like this,” a haughty stage whisper sounded from behind him. 

Harry looked up in surprise, attempting to blink away tears in his embarrassment.

“Malfoy, you startled me.” He suddenly felt too exhausted to banter.

Appearing to sense this, Malfoy busied himself with studying the book in Harry’s hands. “Mm, I can be quite startling. Any good recipes for cake in there? I think I’ve perfected my tres leches. Literally no room for improvement. Might as well add to the roster.” 

Grateful for Malfoy’s ability to make a conversation solely about himself, Harry smiled. “I’m sure it’s just after the section devoted to Jelly moulds.”

“What in the blazes is a Jelly mould?” Malfoy sounded genuinely alarmed, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

“I wouldn’t trouble yourself over it.” 

Reminded of the odd circumstance they found themselves in for the second time, Harry felt strangely vulnerable. “What _are_ you doing here though? I’ve never seen you in here before.”

“You can’t possibly think you’re the only one who knows about Ogma’s?” Draco raised an eyebrow.

Harry shrugged. “Well, I guess I sort of did. It’s become kind of sacred to me I think. I’ve never recognized anyone here, and it’s in such a remote little corner of London. I usually come here when I need to work through something.” 

“Can’t have it all I suppose.” Draco mirrored Harry’s shrug in response. “So what is it then?”

“What is what?”

“What are you coming here to ‘work through?” Draco asked as he absentmindedly picked up and opened a book on windowsill gardening.

“Oh. Er.” Harry debated for a moment whether or not he should tell the truth. Malfoy had really done nothing to earn his trust, and frankly, he was annoyed at this intrusion. “Ron and Hermione got engaged. That’s where they were, actually, the night of Luna’s party. That’s what they were… doing,” Harry heard himself say against his better judgment. _What is wrong with you?_ his subconscious scolded. 

“And that’s... bad?” Draco frowned, attempting to read Harry’s expression.

“No! Not bad per se. I just- I just don’t want anything to change. Obviously it has to, and we’re not kids anymore, but it was the three of us. And then when I was with Ginny, it was the four of us. And now it’s just the two of them… and me.”

Harry really wasn’t sure why he was sharing so much of himself with Malfoy. Wondering if someone had slipped him Veritaserum, he rubbed his forehead, feeling self-conscious; Malfoy wouldn’t deign to say something so foolish.

Malfoy scoffed, confirming his suspicions. “Well what do you think is going to happen, Potter? They’re going to be sent off to an island where all the marrieds go, and you’ll never see or speak to them again? I understand you’ve got some abandonment issues, which is a conversation for another time, but it can’t be as bad as all that. At least you like both of them! When Pansy started dating that Mortimer fellow, I thought I might have to give up on that crazy bint, and I’ve known her practically since birth. But now they’re married, and there’s fuck-all I can do about it, so I tolerate him. And I make it a point to spend time with Pansy. Alone. Is anything _really_ going to change?”

Draco had made himself a case. Smarting slightly from the hearty dose of truth, Harry found he still appreciated Draco’s candor. Maybe this could be a type of tough-love friendship, though he was cautious to use the word “love” in any context concerning Draco Malfoy.

“I- you’re probably right,” Harry conceded.

“What’s that now? In all of my days on this earth, I never thought I’d hear those words escape your lips, Potter,” Draco said dramatically, eyes widening in mock-surprise.

“Well don’t get too used to it,” Harry grunted. He regretted this already. 

“I shan’t. Your head injury will probably heal soon, and you’ll be back to your old ways in no time.”

“Oh very funny. If there’s anything wrong with my head, it’s the headache you’re causing.” Harry felt a reluctant pang of fondness for the git and continued. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t owl. I didn’t think it was a good idea initially. But honestly, maybe we could try being friends or something.” 

He extended his hand to the other man.

“Well thank god, Potter, I’ve been able to think of little else. Simply waiting by the window each day.”

Draco considered Harry’s outstretched hand for a beat, equally aware of the symbolism of this gesture and moment in time. Looking Harry right in the eyes, he reached out and shook his hand.

______

“You realize you were obsessed with him for the better part of the last two decades, right?” Pansy snorted.

“Pansy, I was not _obsessed_ with Potter.” Draco glared at his friend across the kitchen island. In response to her raised eyebrow, he slammed down the knife he was using to chop scallions. “Fine. But can we at least agree it was a hatred-based obsession?”

“If by hatred you mean repressed sexual chemistry and thoughts of lewd acts perpetrated in the Prefect’s bathroom, then by all means!” Pansy guffawed, taking a swig of wine and laying waste to Draco’s attempt at saving face.

Draco rolled his eyes. “There is no good reason to use the word perpetrated,” he grumbled. “At least I have good taste. As I recall, you didn’t spurn my romantic advances in fifth year.”

“Oh too right, and what a disaster that was! Do you remember when we tried to have sex at the Manor over break? Traumatizing, to say the least. I’m not sure how we managed to recover from that one.”

“Jesus, Pansy, whose side are you on? You are legitimately the worst friend I could possibly have!” Draco snarled. 

Pansy was unfazed. “That I am. Do you have one of those buttons laying around, like you made in fourth year? We can transfigure it to say ‘Pansy Stinks.’ Shouldn’t be much of a challenge for a skilled wizard such as yourself.”

“Nobody gives me credit for the creative genius I am! I was fourteen. That shit was complex.”

“Oh relax, love, everybody knows you’re an _artiste._ ” Pansy was so drunk she could barely keep a straight face, devolving into a fit of giggles. Eventually, Draco joined her, taking the wine glass from her hand and downing the rest.

“He’s asked me to go to ‘pub night’ with those Gryffindor brigands,” Draco said breathlessly after the laughter had died down. He’d attempted to tack this on to the conversation as casually as possible, as though he hadn’t spent an hour agonizing over possible responses to Potter’s owl.

Pansy paused. “You’re not going, of course?”

“Of course not! Don’t be stupid,” Draco sneered. Of course, he'd known he’d be going from the moment Potter had asked, but it was far too easy to lie to an intoxicated Pansy Parkinson.

______

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. In what universe should I let Harry Potter drag me to a pub night with everyone that has ever disliked me in my entire life?” Draco demanded, though continuing to walk at a rather brisk pace towards said pub.

“I mean, it’s not likely _everyone_ who’s ever disliked you. I’m sure there are plenty more who couldn’t make it.” Harry grinned as Draco made a rude gesture at him.

“Whatever. I need a fucking cigarette,” Draco cursed, digging his hands into the pocket of his pea coat. “This was a horrible time to quit.”

“Didn’t you say you quit like a year ago?”

“Yes well, it was a year too soon. I can’t handle this shite,” Draco grimaced.

“Malfoy, relax. It’ll be great. We’re all adults. Besides, you’re already friends with Luna, and she’ll be there,” Harry assured, attempting to provide Draco a reason to stay without sounding too desperate.

“I know, it’s just-“ Malfoy stopped walking and turned to face Harry. “It’s just a little weird for me is all.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Harry said innocently, shoving Malfoy’s shoulder and receiving a glare in return. “Look, it’s only weird if you make it weird. Just be… _nice_? Maybe that’s the wrong word.” He shrugged. “Just come on, they’re going to wonder what’s keeping us.”

Once inside the warm pub, Harry and Draco were smashed into a corner with what appeared to be the entirety of Dumbledore’s Army. Harry had informed Ron and Hermione that Draco would be joining them beforehand, as to be prepared. Hermione went as far as to provide a friendly reception, telling him she was pleased he had come. In return, Draco congratulated her on their engagement, even remarking that the ring was lovely.

Ron, on the other hand, looked as though he might burst, as if he couldn’t wait to tell Malfoy he was precisely the opposite of pleased he had joined them. Chastened by a _look_ from Hermione, he plodded over to the bar and brought back a round of firewhiskey for the four of them, whispering to Harry he was going to need it if he was to be civil. 

“Hear, hear,” Harry whispered back. Ron didn’t have to love Draco, he just needed to tolerate the fact they were sort-of friends.

At some point in the night, Ginny arrived, her new boyfriend in tow. She bounced in the door, making the rounds and chattering cheerfully with everyone in sight. Draco caught Harry staring at them once, and gave an encouraging squeeze to Harry’s thigh. Harry jumped initially, but met Draco’s eyes and smiled in gratitude. It lessened the sting exponentially, and Harry was pleased he’d forced Draco to come along. He’d even introduced himself to Paolo, and begrudgingly admitted that while he wasn’t exactly keen on spending any more time with the pair, they suited one another.

Harry found himself having a wonderful time, in spite of the run-in with Ginny. He ended the night by playing a drinking game with Seamus, Dean, Neville, Draco, and Luna. Neville surprised them all by drinking them under the table; Harry noticed Draco staring at him with something akin to reverence as he knocked back what seemed like his tenth ale. Before that, Harry had even exchanged numbers with a bloke from work. _Take that, Hermione,_ he thought to himself, _no new friends my arse !_

They left the pub tipsy and cheerful, Ron and Hermione inviting Harry back to theirs for some late-night takeout. Draco, of course, had to be getting back before Blaise started to worry.

______

  
“You know, I think I very nearly had a nice time with Malfoy last night. I know he doesn’t want to become just another Ministry drone, but his Arithmancy skills are something to be rivaled. He could really help the Curse Breakers uncover a lot of new research with some of those theorems,” Hermione said warmly, blowing into her coffee mug. She gave Harry a little nudge with her shoulder.

“He’s apparently quite the interior decorator as well… It’s a long story,” Harry added at the questioning look from Hermione. “I still kind of can’t believe we’re actual friends. I don’t think we want to hex each other anymore.” Harry couldn’t keep himself from smiling, if not a bit wistfully. He’d decided last night that however confusing his feelings about Malfoy might be, he liked having the other man around. Malfoy made him feel more confident by proxy, like he could stare right back at the throngs of unabashed staring admirers.

“I don’t think you want to hex each other at all,” Hermione said meaningfully. “Quite the opposite really.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means that he was staring at you the whole time you were flirting with Magnus Savio. He was jealous.” Hermione grinned sheepishly. “You can’t say you didn’t notice.”

Truthfully, Harry hadn’t entirely thought they’d been flirting. He’d seen Magnus once or twice at the Ministry and they’d chatted about the most recent Doxy outbreak. It seemed harmless enough. Though he did suppose Magnus had asked about Harry’s romantic status, and if he was interested in getting a drink next weekend. Merlin, but he was thick sometimes; the entirety of their conversation Harry had wanted to get back over to Draco to tell him something he’d just thought of. 

“Hermione, Draco’s been dating Blaise for like four years. He wasn’t jealous. Maybe he was just upset that I’d left him to fend for himself,” Harry chided.

“Oh, it’s Draco now, then? Well, I think _Draco_ was doing just fine on his own. He had Neville in hysterics discussing the necessity of pore strips. But if you want to be right then I’ll let you have that,” Hermione said with a shrug. “All I’m saying is, you looked happier last night than I’ve seen you in months.”

______

“How did the shindig go with the Gryffindor club last night?” Blaise sat down gracefully next to Draco on their settee, setting down his tea on a coaster.

“Honestly? Could have been worse. I feel like shite this morning though, I’ve got to say. But get this: Some bloke was chatting Potter up half the evening, and Potter seemed to be enjoying it, so there’s an interesting development.” At Blaise’s blank stare, Draco quickly changed subjects. “And I’ve never spent so much time talking to Granger - managed to only mildly insult her once or twice. And Longbottom is a maniac. Who knew the man could drink as much ale as a Hippogriff?” Draco pinched his forehead between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed, squinting in the light from the kitchen window.

“Who knew, indeed. Draco, you don’t actually _like_ these people, do you? If you feel like you have to go on some sort of apology tour, it’s been a long time and you don’t owe them anything,” Blaise drawled, dangerously toeing the line between cordiality and derision. It was an art, really.

“Please, it was one night out in an attempt to make peace. I see Granger constantly at the office.” Annoyance rippled at the surface of Draco’s response. “Anyway, enough about last night. I need copious amounts of coffee and hangover potion. Your finest, good sir! Chop, chop.” He clapped his hands in an attempt to steer the conversation to literally anything else.

Rather than perpetuating Draco’s jest, Blaise looked rather bemused. “So I’m to be your house elf now?”

Draco stared for a minute, mouth agape. “No, of course not, I was only joking. I’ll get it myself.” He started to get up when Blaise grabbed his arm.

“I’m sorry, love. I’ve just been thinking about how to talk with you about this, and I haven’t been able to find the right time. It’s leaving me a bit of a mess, you understand.” Blaise looked worried, and Draco suddenly felt like all of his nerve endings were frayed and buzzing.

“All is forgiven. Now, what the fuck are you talking about?” he spat quickly.

Blaise took a breath. “I’ve got a business opportunity in Portugal. I’ve been working with a team there on international magical law, ironing out some of the kinks. It could be great for me, for us… But it’s six months.” Blaise practically lit up talking about this new prospect.

“Six months. That long, really?” Draco heard himself say, sadly. He wasn’t certain how to feel, and doubt pulled at the corner of his mind like a thread ready to unravel. Draco knew Blaise loved his job, and could hardly begrudge him the opportunity, but six months seemed an eternity. Anxiety burned brightly in his chest as he fought off the urge to make a desperate plea for Blaise to stay. He searched the other man’s face for any indication of doubt but came up short. Instead, he was met with a sweet, hopeful look in his lover’s almond eyes. 

“I suppose I’d better brush up on my Portuguese then,” he conceded finally, attempting a small smile.

“Draco, thank you. Thank you so much. I love you. This will be great, so great, for both of us” Blaise said, practically bounding from the settee, obviously thrilled. He bent down and grabbed Draco’s face, planting a firm kiss on his lips. “Now, let’s see about this hangover potion. I’m sure there’s some in the cabinet.” He bustled off to the bathroom.

Draco felt like someone had hit him with a stunning spell. He swayed a little as he sat on the couch, staring into the abyss.

Oddly enough, the first person he found himself wanting to tell about all of this was Potter. Not even Pansy, who would certainly have something to say about the situation, could be trusted for an unbiased opinion. Draco could imagine her, delighted he had managed to find himself such a business-minded partner, practically drooling over the possibility of accompanying him on a visit to Portugal; it nearly turned his stomach. No, now was the time for an honest conversation.

______

Harry and Draco had been sitting in the sand, propped against a log for the last thirty minutes or so. This was at Harry’s behest, believing an impromptu visit to the sea was a cure-all. With Blaise being gone for the last month, Harry took it upon himself to occupy Draco’s time and keep him cheerful. As cheerful as Malfoys could be, anyway. This particular evening they’d found an apparition point close to Westcliff, finding it mostly empty. They’d cast a warming charm over themselves, avoiding the chill as evening settled in around them.

Watching the sunset on the beach was Harry’s absolute favorite thing. Draco was a bit fidgety, repeatedly shaking the sand from his boots, but eventually admitted he too enjoyed the scenery. 

“I dated a woman once,” Draco announced after some time, as if this were very important information.

“Er, so have I. For around 8 years or so. Your point being?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Draco looked at Harry square in the face. “I’m just going to come out and say it, Potter, I’m trying to understand your attraction to the Weaselette. Because at this moment in time, I do not.”

“Jesus, Malfoy, don’t call her that!” Harry snapped.

“Oh, excuse me, the Weasel’s sister.”

“That’s not what I-” Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Alright. Fine. What are you asking again?”

“I’m just telling you that as a man who’s spent time in the presence of a woman romantically, I don’t understand why you were together for so long. It’s not as though she oozes feminine mystique.”

“Are you trying to ask me in some ass-backwards way about my breakup with Ginny?” 

“Yes, I suppose,” Draco said plainly. 

Harry tried not to laugh. “You could just have said, like, ‘what happened between you and Ginny? Do you want to talk about it?’”

“ _‘Do you want to talk about it?’_ ” Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste. He then proceeded to cross his arms and wait for a response. 

“What’s there to say? I came home one afternoon and she had packed up all of her things. She said she couldn’t go on like we were, and it was best if she left. She seems to be doing fine with Paolo now,” Harry said bitterly. 

“And with all of this going on, when precisely did you discover that you were attracted to men?” Draco asked, examining his fingernails.

Harry was floored by this. “What? How did you get that from what I just said?”

“I didn’t, that was just the question I really wanted to ask. I don’t actually care about your breakup, I think She-Weasley is abrasive and boorish, not unlike her brothers. Though I have to admit, _Ronald_ is growing on me.”

Harry took a moment to think, attempting to look past the insensitivity of it all. He searched the empty beach as if looking to say to someone, _Are you hearing this asshole?_ He shook his head. 

“Okay, well. Firstly, I think Ginny is beautiful. She’s been one of my best friends for so long, I guess I just didn’t really see any other option. I’ve always admired men, probably had crushes now that I think on it, but I was going to see it through with Ginny as long as I could,” he explained.

“See it through _?_ Potter, what are you even saying, that you felt obligated to be together?” Draco pressed. Apparently he cared more about the breakup than he let on.

“No! No, of course not. At least not at first,” Harry’s expression softened. “At first I loved her intensity and her fire and her willfulness but after a while, we butted heads over everything. It got to the point where we could hardly make a decision about anything together. You’d be amazed at the things we could fight about. And if we weren’t bickering then she’d be gone touring, and I was tired of waiting around for her. We’d just been through so much together, and I love the Weasleys; they’re my family.” Harry felt sad, recognizing for the first time that maybe things had been over with Ginny longer than he realized. But with the passing of time, he supposed it didn’t hurt as much now to think about it. 

“Between your fire and her fire you were bound to burn the house down,” Draco said gently. “You need more than that.”

“What do you suppose ‘my fire’ needs?” Harry asked, moving closer to Draco. He couldn’t help himself.

“You’re not so complicated, Potter. You could compliment someone beautifully if they gave you the chance. If nothing else, you’re devoted; I’ve seen it our whole lives. I think… people treat you like you’re fragile. You need someone to trust that you won’t break if you hear the truth.” Draco had moved closer now too.

Harry felt woozy and flattered, and he wanted so badly just to close his eyes and kiss Draco. He was so close, all it would take was a slight lean forward.

Draco looked back at Harry with heavy-lidded eyes. “And what about me?” he asked.

“What about you?” Harry puzzled.

“I’ve said all these nice things about you tonight. Surely you’ve got _something_ to give back,” Draco teased.

“Draco, I…” It was all Harry could do to keep from telling the other man everything. He sat there, fighting every impulse in his body, desperate to tell Draco that maybe he wasn’t really attracted to men in general, it was mostly just _him_. Instead, he chose to say, “I was wrong about you, for a long time. I feel like I’ve never known you at all until now. You’re cheeky and kind of funny, and I sort of hate that we used to hate each other so much.”

“I don’t,” Draco half-whispered. “If you had really known me then, you would have seen how scared and weak I was. You would’ve hated me even more.”

“No,” Harry whispered back, “I would have tried to help you.”

Sitting there, alone in the dark on this beach, Draco reached over for Harry’s hand and took it. They sat there in silence for a long while, until Harry shifted a bit so he was leaning against Draco.

“Would you ever consider… going to Ron and Hermione’s wedding with me? I’m to be in it of course, but I’ve got to have somebody there to help me avoid the cheek-squeezing Aunts,” Harry asked shyly. He felt fairly certain Draco would say yes; they’d been spending nearly all of their time together, but he was so nervous he was almost short of breath. 

“I suppose I could do,” Draco said coolly. “Are you sure that would be… acceptable?” Harry shook his head in response. 

Draco looked down at their adjoined hands, and thoughtfully studied Harry’s; his tan skin was callused and a bit rough, Draco’s own pale and well-maintained. He smiled at the contrast. He also suddenly realized this was a rather tender moment, and couldn’t decide whether or not to let go. He decided against it and continued to sit in silence until he noticed Harry was nodding off.

“Come on,” he said, helping the other man to his feet, “let’s get you home.”

______

  
The next morning, Draco woke up to a plethora of texts from Pansy, ranging from mildly upset to furious to concerned. “So dramatic,” he muttered to himself, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Should never have gotten this stupid mobile.”

Once he’d had some breakfast and tea, he rang her to check in.

“Oh, are you alive then?” Pansy said into the receiver, sounding incredibly annoyed and relieved at once. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Er, Westcliff?” Draco responded coyly. Saying it aloud felt silly.

“What? Draco, it’s freezing, what were you doing on the beach? And with whom?” Pansy shrieked.

“Pansy, any decent wizard can stay warm on a cold beach, use your head. It was nice, quiet. I was… with Potter. Everything’s fine,” he said carefully. He was feeling more awake now Pansy had yelled in his ear. 

“And what do you think Blaise would make of this?” Pansy said snidely.

“Blaise?” Draco’s heart sank, realizing that he hadn’t thought of Blaise all night. Or the day before, really. Possibly even the day before that. “Pansy, I’ve got to go, alright? Thanks for checking in.”

“But-”

Draco hung up the mobile hastily. He had to get to Portugal.

______

Draco’s international portkey landed him on a wizarding platform of the Lisbon metro system. He walked through the ward and into a bustling terminal, filled to the brim with people in varying degrees of business and blatant tourist attire.

Outside on the plaza, people were speaking to each other in a myriad of languages, all blending together in a pleasant hum. The colors were rich and vibrant, and Draco thrilled at the blend of modern and historic architecture at every turn. He understood how Blaise could love it here so much. The city was incredible and alive and so, so beautiful.

He wandered through the city, riding the streetcar rather than apparating. He wanted to see it all, take in this gorgeous place, before getting to Blaise. His stomach fluttered a bit when he arrived at the loft just outside of the city center. It too was gorgeous and steeped in ancient history from the looks of it. The building was white with elaborate wrought iron accents and vibrant tiles, Begonias scattered about the grounds. A soft breeze ruffled his hair lightly and carried him towards the steps. 

Draco was forced to stop dead in his tracks however when a beautiful woman threw open the entryway door. She was laughing, speaking with Blaise in rapid Portgese, standing very close to him. Blaise turned his head and looked visibly stunned when he saw Draco at the bottom of the steps. 

He took a step back from the woman and ran a hand through his closely shaved hair. “Draco, love, what are you doing here?”

Draco rarely saw Blaise this flustered, which wasn’t saying much, but he rarely played with his hair. 

“Paying my boyfriend a visit. But by the look of it, it seems I have poor timing.” Draco took each step slowly and deliberately, scrutinizing the woman carefully. 

“You are Draco then? I’ve heard so much about you.” The woman smiled and extended her hand to Draco. “I am Vitória.”

“I can’t say I’ve heard about you just yet, Vitória, but it’s lovely to meet you.” He raised her hand to his lips and planted a soft kiss in greeting.

“I’ll leave you two then, shall I? I’m sure you’ll be wanting this time to catch up.” She withdrew her hand slowly, as if not to make any sudden movements, and made her way down the steps. 

“Well this is a surprise,” Blaise said.

“Oh, is it?” Draco rolled his eyes.

“I know how this looks, Draco, but I can assure you, we’re just colleagues.”

“Did I say anything?” Draco chided. “You’re the one standing there looking guilty as hell about _Vitória_.”

“Draco, just come in, please. I can let off early, we can go to the beach or something.” Blaise opened his arms out to Draco, who begrudgingly allowed himself to be enveloped in Blaise’s strong embrace. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Sure you are,” Draco snarled half-heartedly. He was glad to be with Blaise, however awkward the initial encounter. “You know, if my colleagues looked like that, I’d probably have them back to mine as well.”

Once inside, Draco felt rather in awe of the luxurious apartment. He expected nothing less from Blaise of course, but this was incredible. He was used to the manor but had since grown accustomed to the more compact living London afforded him. The apartment was light and airy, with the windows open and city noises wafting in.

Blaise bustled off to make them something called a Ginja, and Draco made himself at home, surveying the general area. He was hoping for some sign that showed Blaise had been thinking of him while off on this adventure but came up disappointed. Not even a single picture of them adorned the building, nothing to represent their life together back home. Draco huffed, attempting to let it go. He was determined to enjoy their time together and shake the lingering feeling from the other night. His mind drifted back to Westcliff, quite different than any beach Portugal would have to offer, and of holding Harry’s hand. If this were Harry’s apartment, he was fairly certain there would be pictures of the two of them plastered over every surface imaginable. His stomach did a flip, and he scolded himself.

They spent the afternoon on the Carcavelos beach, laying in the sand and leisurely sipping on Sparkling and Port. Tipsy from the drink and sun and unable to apparate, they rode the train back to the city center.

“It’s so beautiful here, Blaise,” Draco slurred, as they wandered down the street towards Blaise’s apartment.

“Do you love it too?” Blaise asked, sincerely. He stopped and turned to face Draco. “Could you see yourself here?”

“I am here, nitwit,” Draco teased. _Masterful avoidance tactic_ , he thought to himself, amused.

“ _Nitwit?_ I’m serious, Draco. I was thinking about staying, and maybe you’d come along as well?” 

This sobered Draco immediately. “What d’you mean staying? For how long?” he demanded.

“I was thinking... indefinitely,” Blaise said, shrugging. “As I said, I love it here. It would be a much, much easier decision if you said yes.”

“I- I’ve got to think about it,” Draco acquiesced. He shook his head, remembering the pact to enjoy himself no matter the cost. “Look, we’ll talk about it tomorrow. What I don’t have to think about right now is the fact that I can’t wait to get you upstairs.” He nuzzled into Blaise’s neck, basking in the familiar scent of verbena and breathing deeply.

“You’re going to be fun,” Blaise whispered into his hair. “I’ve missed you so much, my love.”

They barely made it up the stairs, a tangled mess of limbs and tongues and roaming hands, shedding clothing as they went. Draco’s mind felt fuzzy both from the drink and lingering thoughts of the previous night. He threw himself into the unmade bed, luxuriating in the silky feeling of the sheets against his bare skin, attempting to focus on the matter at hand. 

“Hold on just a moment,” Blaise murmured before excusing himself. Draco watched him walk away, lust in his eyes. Maybe he could stay here, in this ridiculous apartment, spending his days on the beach and making love to Blaise all night. But then again...

Draco let his hands wander, roaming the bed, canvassing the surface. Sliding his hands under a pillow, a sharp _poke_ deterred his dreamy exploration. Holding up the perpetrator, Draco realized with a sinking feeling it was an earring.

It was the sum of all of Draco’s fears. He knew Blaise had worn earrings occasionally, but this clearly belonged to someone with a more ornate taste. The pear-shaped carnelian stone glinted in foreboding. He closed his eyes in an attempt to quell the rage pooling in his stomach.

“Vitória,” he whispered into the darkness.

“What’s that, love?” Blaise had returned, poised like a hunter on the prowl. He hugged the side of the doorway, his lean frame elongated by the pose. Draco was absolutely seething at the sight of him like this, so casual and non-chalant, as if he hadn’t just been washing off the scent of a gorgeous Portuguese woman.

“Hard to believe you aren’t spent already. Ready for another round so soon?” he hissed.

“Draco?” 

“Blaise,” Draco’s voice came as a warning. “What would you do if you were to come to our flat and find an earring underneath the pillow? Do you think you would believe _anything_ I had to say for myself? Or would you, do you suppose, make a fantastic scene so that all of our neighbors knew exactly what sort of cheating, lowlife scoundrel lives next door to them?” Draco felt almost feral as his magic crackled in the air around them.

Blaise, wise enough at least to admit defeat, watched wordlessly as Draco got up, dressed, and gathered his belongings. When Draco went to the doorway, travel bag in hand, Blaise halfheartedly attempted to stop him, placing a hand on either side of his head. 

“Draco, you deserve so much more than this. Can’t we just talk about it? I’m s-”

“If you say ‘I’m sorry’ I will murder you on the spot. You don’t get to say it. I know you’re not.” Blaise was so intentional, deliberate and discriminating with his words and actions. Draco couldn’t bear to see him lie. “And neither am I.”

Walking away left Draco with a lightness he hadn’t felt in years.

_______

Harry’s panting echoed in the stairwell as he climbed up towards Draco’s flat. His heart beating fast, he felt unsure of what he planned to say, but knew he had to say _something_.

The night before last, he’d agreed to get a drink with Magnus, which led to some heavy petting on the couch, and ultimately a belly full of guilt for Harry. The entirety of the night, he thought of Draco, and what he would do if word floated back to him at the Ministry. He nearly felt ill, and attempted to send Magnus on his way before things went too far.

Savio had seen through it though and questioned Harry before leaving. Harry attempted every excuse in the book before sighing exasperatedly and telling him there was someone else.

“Ah, of course it’s Malfoy,” Magnus had sighed. “He’s an awful prat, you know. But I’ve seen you two together, there’s clearly something there. I guess I should have known better to get my hopes up,” he said ruefully.

 _I’ve seen you two together, there’s clearly something there_ echoed through his mind mercilessly as he climbed each step. Was it too much to hope? He rapped on the door three times. 

Groaning, Pansy Parkinson emerged from the entryway, eying him crossly. 

“Oh, it’s you. He’s not here right now.” 

“Well, where’s he gone?”

“Visiting Blaise in Portugal,” Pansy said, looking down her nose.

“Oh, okay. Er, do you know when he’ll be back?” Harry asked, a jealous feeling threatening to swallow him where he stood.

Recognition dawned across Pansy’s face. “Don’t think I don’t see what this is. This isn’t some kind of game. They’ve found their happy ending, and it doesn’t include you. You’re standing in _their_ flat, looking like a fool. Don’t you understand?”

“Christ, Parkinson, when did you get so hostile? I’ve just asked where Draco is, I’m not asking for his hand in marriage,” Harry spat, feeling embarrassed he was coming across so obvious.

“You may as well be, Potter. Don’t ruin this for them,” Pansy warned, voice dripping with vitriol. “They’re my best friends, like family. You’ve somehow managed to weasel your way into Draco’s good graces because he’s let his guard down for a minute. His heart may have softened to you, but mostly I think he feels sorry for you.”

Harry took a step back in disbelief. The last thing he wanted was for Draco to feel sorry for him. He shook his head, reminding himself that Parkinson had no idea what she was talking about; she hadn’t seen the way they were together. Or maybe she had, and knew Harry's very presence had disrupted the relationship. He knew he had to talk to Draco.

He flew down the steps, working out what to do next.

______

Blaise Zabini answered the door looking fit and sleek; his suit tailored perfectly, his umber skin even more sun-kissed than usual. Jesus, but Harry was envious. Blaise was beautiful and composed. He was a stark contrast to everything Harry was, particularly at this moment.

Zabini’s eyes widened in surprise as he took in every inch of Harry’s presence in his doorway. “Harry Potter? What in seven hells are you doing showing up on my doorstep like this?” Blaise asked, voice smooth as silk. Despite the intrusion, he looked relatively unruffled.

“Fuck, I don’t know. Is Draco here?” Harry managed to get out, despite feeling his throat dry up. What _was_ he doing there?

“He’s... not here. He left last night.” Blaise said coolly, but Harry could see he was a bit shaken.

“What?” Harry blurted, feeling an odd mixture of disappointment and happiness bubble up within him.

Blaise paused for a moment, studying the other man. Harry, recognizing the absurdity of the situation for possibly the first time, attempted to avoid his eyes. 

“Well, er, I’ll just be going then-” he said, backing up slowly. Curse this Gryffindor impulsivity.

“I should hex your bollocks off. How dare you show up here looking like a lost crup, asking about him. Your arrogance clearly knows no bounds. I know what you’re after, Potter, and you don’t deserve him.” Blaise narrowed his eyes, sounding dangerous and disdainful. 

Harry felt anger rise in his chest and moved closer to Blaise. “You know something, Zabini? Neither do you.”

And that was the last thing he said before Blaise punched him square in the eye and slammed the door in his face. Harry reeled a bit before finding purchase on the stair rail. He supposed he shouldn’t linger much longer before an angry Blaise decided to make good on his threat to hex Harry’s bollocks off. He walked gingerly to the bottom of the street clutching his cheek. 

Normally, he wouldn’t stand for this kind of violence without some sort of retaliation, but part of his brain told him he probably deserved it. He couldn’t deny there was another part of his brain that was indeed chuffed at the possibility Draco was no longer together with Blaise.

_______  
  


“Merlin, Potter, what’s happened to your eye? You look a wreck. Is everything alright?” Draco asked, startled by Harry’s appearance. He hadn’t had time to grab any bruise removal paste and knew a black eye was blooming spectacularly where Blaise had punched him two days ago.

Harry sat down across from Draco at a small table in their favorite coffee shop. He ran a hand through his hair, contemplating whether or not to tell the truth or just buy himself some time. He glanced over at Draco, who looked genuinely concerned, and felt something break inside of him. Harry knew he had to tell him, despite the fact he wanted to stare at Draco for a little longer and just be in his presence before the inevitable explosion that was to come.

“Draco, I er, went to Portugal. To see you. I talked to Blaise and er, that’s how I managed to get this,” he pointed to his eye as he studied it on the back of a spoon. It had indeed morphed into an awful blueish-purplish-yellowish shade.

“Wait, what? Potter, you went to Portugal to try and - and what? Break us up or something? What in god's name is wrong with you?!” Draco’s eyes widened in confusion. “I don’t understand. Did you think it was some kind of grand gesture?”

“No! No. I just… I thought you might see that I was serious,” Harry said, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

“Serious about what? Being an enormous arsehole?” Draco sneered. Harry knew he should expect something like this, but it hurt all the same. Draco didn’t tend to react well to surprises.

“Look, I’m sorry. It’s not like I went there trying to break you up… I don’t know what I was hoping to achieve. I just- Draco, I just like you. That’s all it is, and I just didn’t want to wait to tell you. I didn’t want you to waste your time anymore.”

“Oh so being with anyone but you is a waste of my time? Christ, Potter, of course you’re so vain as to think that. I can’t believe you. It took a lot for me to even try and be friends, and now you tell me that it’s been a lie? I feel sick,” Draco said caustically. He somehow managed to say all of this quietly enough as to not draw attention, but it was clear he was furious.

“I didn’t lie exactly. We are friends. I just want it to be something more. I can’t help it. And I think if you were honest with yourself, you’d want that too.” Harry knew full well he was going too far and risking too much, but it was too late to stop.

“If I’m ‘honest with myself,’ Potter, I want nothing to do with you right now.” And with that, Draco got up, turned on his heel and left the coffee shop. He didn’t look back once. If he had, he would have seen Harry looking miserable and embarrassed, staring at his hands. 

Harry didn’t get up for a while afterward, allowing himself to feel the gravity of the situation.

“Bloody idiot,” he murmured to himself, fighting back the sting of tears.

Harry walked home in a sort of stupor, desperately hoping he hadn’t just seen Draco for the last time. The worst part of it was that Draco thought him a liar. But it was true, he had lied; he didn’t just _like_ Draco, and he knew exactly why he’d gone to Portugal.

______

“Pansy, I think I’ve fucked up massively.” Draco cradled his head in his hands miserably. He sat down at the kitchen table, out of the way of Pany’s path of levitating glassware. She was there helping him move his belongings out of the shared flat. 

“What is it, darling?” She sat down across from him. “You mean with Blaise? I’m just as shocked as you are. Do you think you shouldn’t have left?”

Draco blinked at her. To be honest, he hadn’t even thought about Blaise since meeting with Harry. In fact, all he could really think about was Harry. He felt his lips open and close like a fish washed ashore.

“So this is about Potter, then?” Pansy sniped, fixing him with a glare.

“When is it not?” Draco uttered. “He told me how he felt and I basically spat in his face. He went all the way to godforsaken Portugal to- to win my hand or something! And I didn’t tell him the reason I went to Portugal was to figure out how I felt. After that night on the beach, I just wasn’t sure anymore. Honestly, I was furious at him for doing that behind my back… but I think I was more furious that I was too much of a coward to tell him how I really felt.”

Pansy rolled her eyes so hard Draco could practically hear it. “Oh for Morgana’s sake, Draco. You’re a thousand times too good for that wanker, but if you want him so bad, go get him. He’s no Blaise, but he is rather sexy.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” he said, feeling defeated. “I was horrid, even for me. It was so unexpected, and I just didn’t want to admit that Potter was the reason I was letting go of our relationship. Blaise just made it easier by sleeping with Vitoria. And to make it all the worse, Blaise punched him in the fucking face, Pansy! Potter had this terrible black eye and showed up to the cafe looking like a psychopath.”

Pansy attempted to hide her giggles at first but then broke out into a peal of full-on laughter. “Look at you, babes, two men fighting for your honor. Or lack thereof!”

“Shut up, you cow,” Draco snapped, before joining in the laughter himself. “And don’t say that Potter’s sexy again or I’ll have you committed.”

Pansy ignored his jibe. 

“So, what are you going to do?”

______

It was now late June, and the Burrow was brimming with guests for Ron and Hermione’s wedding. 

Harry had never felt closer to his friends, having spent the past week playing in pick up quidditch matches, catching gnomes, and drinking honeyed ale while watching the sunset. He spent time catching up with Luna and Rolf, who had rented a room in Ottery St. Catchpole and were exploring local fauna. He felt warm and happy, and most importantly, distracted. Though he couldn’t deny, watching the couples around him fall under the spell that only weddings can cast, he felt a deep pang of longing.

The morning of the ceremony, Harry practiced his speech over and over again in the guest room at the Burrow. He’d changed it in the past few days to reflect the ease with which he saw Ron and Hermione love one another this past week. Their dance was a combination of fevered passion and tranquil acceptance, and he envied it.

Mrs. Weasley had given Harry the task of arranging the heliotropes, purple tulips, and red chrysanthemums on the tables and in various spots in the garden. He’d enlisted Luna to help, though he’d actually just wanted a chat with her.

“You seem back to your old self, Harry,” she said airily. She rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, admiring their work.

“Thanks, Luna. Did you miss me?”

“You were never gone, just hiding for a bit. Heartbreak can do that. It seems like Draco really helped to heal you,” Luna said sagely.

“I don’t really know, Luna. I thought it was a good thing, but maybe I was wrong.”

Luna didn’t respond but instead smiled softly. Harry was filled with so much affection for her at that moment, he wanted to tell her everything, but he suspected she already knew anyway.

They watched the guests begin to trickle in, wandering about the grounds of the Burrow and chatting, deciding they’d better head upstairs to get ready. 

_______  
  


The ceremony was beautiful and understated, going off without a hitch. At the reception, seated at the Head Table, Harry prepared to give his speech. He stood and surveyed the crowd, gazing fondly at the familiar faces. He looked at Ron and Hermione, who were offering encouraging smiles in between looking lovingly at each other, and his heart swelled.

He began: “Ron. Hermione. I am so grateful to be a part of what you’ve done here today. While nobody is surprised that you’ve chosen each other, there has been nothing better than to witness you make it official. 

I watched you love each other from afar at first, afraid to take the first step, getting to know possibly everything there is to know about one another. What an incredible thing, to be someone’s very best friend and also the love of their life. That’s the real, actual magic in this world.” 

Harry surveyed the room once more. His heart practically stopped when he realized that standing near the back of the tent was Draco Malfoy, looking solemn and nervous. Pulse ringing in his ears, he continued.

“We wake up every morning not knowing what the day might hold for us, what we might lose and what we might gain. But if everyday, we take a chance on someone or something we really love, we need never fear for the future. 

It’s so rare to find that one person you can truly be yourself with, the person who challenges you without making you feel less than, the person who compliments you and you never question the sincerity. When you know it’s right like we all do with Ron and Hermione, then you never give up. So cheers to Ron and Hermione, and never giving up!” 

He raised his glass, looking Draco in the eyes, sending a clear message to him: _I haven’t given up_.

Once the applause died down and everyone was seated, Hermione leaned over to Harry. 

“That was amazing. I love you,” she whispered so only he could hear. “Now go talk to him.”

“Him?” Harry was startled, disbelieving Hermione saw Draco in the back of the room.

“Yes, _him_. Now go, you don’t want to waste anymore time.”

Harry thanked her profusely and took the first opportunity to skirt questioning family members and run off to find the silver-haired man. He found Draco just outside the tent, leaning on a tree, looking cool and crisp in the humid summer air. A gentle breeze washed the sounds of distant merriment and various Weasley confections over them.

“Hi,” Draco said meekly, looking down at the small package wrapped in his hands.

“Hi. You’re here,” Harry said warily, as though this were fragile; as though it could be taken away from him again.

“I am. Granger - Hermione had asked me to come. Harry, I think that maybe I’ve been a massive idiot,” Draco confessed, looking bashful and heartbreakingly sincere.

Harry could hardly think when the other man was standing there looking like that, saying his name. _Harry. Harry._ He wanted to hear it again. 

Somehow, he managed to regain enough sense and respond. “Look, Draco, I’m sorry about everything. All I know is… I can’t let this go. Whatever this is. I like being with you. I like it so much. I’ve never felt as happy as I have spending time with you, and I know you’ve got Blaise-”

“I don’t actually,” Draco interjected. “Have Blaise, I mean. He was sleeping with one of his colleagues. And he’s staying in Portugal, so there’s that.”

“Are you serious? That bastard! I can’t believe I let that berk land a fucking punch. I could murder him.” Harry looked incredulous and angry, and it was more endearing to Draco than anything he could imagine.

“No.”

“No?” Harry cocked his head, anger momentarily dissipating.

“No. It was for the best. Everything,” Draco said solemnly. 

“Ah, did you hate Portugal too? It was clearly shite.” Harry’s attempt at a joke did nothing to assuage the knots which had quickly formed in his stomach.

Draco laughed gingerly. “Potter, you are possibly the most infuriating person I’ve ever met on this earth, but I’ll be damned if I don’t think about you every second of every day.”

And with that, Draco crossed the space between the two of them and softly cupped Harry’s cheek in his hand. Staring into his eyes, searching them for what felt like an eternity, Draco’s eyes fluttered closed and he gently guided their lips together. 

Taking in the new sensation and thrill of finally kissing Draco Malfoy, Harry let his eyes fall shut and softened into the kiss. Harry felt like he might explode, stars behind his eyes. Slowly, tentatively, Draco opened his lips, his tongue asking the question _more?_

They both knew what more would mean. More kissing, more touching, more labels and reckoning with the fact that they were _definitely_ more than friends. More acknowledgment that this had been a long time coming, forever in the making.The kiss was so intimate and unhurried, it felt like they had been doing this forever. It was too much.

“I’m in love with you,” Harry whispered against Draco’s lips. Draco stilled. “You don’t have to say anything back, it’s okay.”

Draco’s heart dropped at Harry’s hasty reassurances.

“No, P- Harry, I think I’ve always loved you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Those nights at the party, the pub, the beach, they just confirmed it. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my entire life, but I never thought it was possible.” Draco overwhelmed with the intensity of his sentiment, closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Harry’s. When he opened his eyes, Harry’s own were misty with tears which threatened to spill.

“I want to dance with you,” Harry said shakily.

“I want to do everything with you,” Draco said, in spite of himself. Was he giving too much? Being too open? It didn’t matter, he wanted to tell the truth. He’d spent too long denying himself what he’d truly wanted.

“We will,” Harry whispered back. “We’ll do it all... But for now we should probably get back to the reception. People will wonder where we’ve got off to.”

“Let them wonder,” Draco said breathily, pulling Harry into a blistering kiss and swaying on the spot.

______

“Bedroom, now,” Draco murmured against Harry’s lips.

Harry nodded. He was certain he would have let Draco lead him anywhere. That was all that Draco needed to sidelong apparate them into Harry’s bedroom. The _crack_ was startling and they broke apart from each other for a brief second, only to crash back into the kiss at full speed and intensity.

Draco used his body to guide Harry back to his bed, never breaking contact, peppering down the side of Harry’s neck and collarbone. Harry, drowsy with arousal, melted back onto the bed without any sort of resistance. Draco took his time, slowly unbuttoning Harry’s shirt, running his hand along the tan skin beneath it. He reached for Harry’s belt, dipping a hand below his waistband, questioning

“Want you,” was all Harry could manage to breathe against Draco’s lips. This seemed to be all of the encouragement Malfoy needed to press on, running his hand over the length of Harry’s hard cock. Harry moaned in response, bucking his hips to get more. His hands tore at Malfoy’s shirt, making short work of the buttons and leaving them pressed chest to chest on top of each other.

It felt like Draco was everywhere. His hands roaming the muscular planes of Harry’s body, worrying his nipples and collarbone with his mouth. Harry, eager to prove himself as well, attempted to divest Draco of his own trousers, but Draco moved away. 

“Let me have this, please,” he murmured against the sensitive skin on Harry’s neck. Deciding Draco was making a fine argument for himself, Harry lay back and let Draco continue to map his body.

Draco made short work of Harry’s clothing, leaving him fully naked and waiting. Unable to hide his feelings of deep satisfaction when Harry’s heavy cock bounced back against his stomach, Draco grinned wickedly and leaned back on his heels. Harry’s eyes fluttered closed when Draco leaned forward to lick a stripe from the tip to the base of Harry’s cock, a small moan from escaping his lips. This was all the encouragement Draco needed before proceeding to take Harry into his mouth as far as he could. Swirling his tongue around the crown and savoring the salt and musk, Draco enthusiastically sucked until Harry was bucking and moaning.

“You’ve got to stop, I don’t want it to be over yet,” Harry begged, pushing Draco’s shoulders back.

“What do you want, then?”

“You know what I want,” Harry whispered headily, dragging him up for a kiss. “I want you to fuck me, Draco,” he growled against Malfoy’s lips. “I want to be yours.”

Overwhelmed with desire, Draco quickly undressed. His eyes never leaving Harry’s, he grabbed a jar of lubricant from the bed stand and began to work his fingers inside of Harry. Slowly, agonizingly, he worked two and then three fingers into his tight arse. Kissing him gently, he relied on the small moans of encouragement until Harry felt ready.

Nervous he was going to come before they even began, Draco ran his hand up and down his shaft, gently slicking it. He lined himself up with Harry’s tight hole and pushed forward carefully.

“Ah, yes,” Harry moaned, grabbing at Draco’s hips and encouraging him further. “You feel so good.”

“You’re so tight,” Draco said breathily. “It’s incredible.”

Moving slowly, Draco slid further into Harry until he was fully sheathed. Arousal burned hot in his belly, and he knew he wouldn’t last long. Beginning to pick up the pace, Draco moved Harry’s legs to his hips and buried his head in Harry’s neck and hair.

“Ah fuck, yes,” Harry hummed, reveling in the rhythm Draco had set, fucking back against Draco’s hard length. Angling his hips up in such a way that Draco felt all of Harry, he began to move erratically, spurred on by Harry’s encouraging noises and purrs.

Pressing a bruising kiss to Harry’s lips, Draco came with a cry, emptying himself into Harry. “Love you, love you, love you,” he whispered into Harry’s ear and hair and cheek as he rode through his orgasm. 

Reaching down between them, Harry pulled on his cock before coming in hot jets against their bellies, calling Draco’s name as he found release.

After breaking apart and managing to clean themselves up a bit, Draco stared appreciatively at Harry’s naked form as he emerged from the washroom. “I had always wondered what Harry Potter’s magic cock would be like. It doesn’t disappoint,” he said hungrily.

“Maybe you’d like to try riding it a little later,” Harry said mischievously. “If you’re up for it.”

“Is that a challenge, Potter?” Draco growled, pulling Harry down onto the bed with him and furiously claiming his mouth.

They lay like that for a while, kissing slowly and talking about the wedding, and the past several weeks. They’d fallen into such an easy rhythm lately, it was hard for Draco to imagine it had been any other way.

“I didn’t think it could be like this,” he admitted.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked sleepily. He brushed a strand of Draco’s hair from his eyes.

“I mean, I thought if I ever gave too much of myself, I wouldn’t get anything back. I felt like my reserves would run out, and I’d have nothing left. But instead, I feel like it keeps getting better… between us, I mean. I can give it my all because you do too. I watch you do that everyday, with everything. Even things that don’t matter that much. Does that even make sense? ” Draco’s cheeks tinged a slight pink at this revelation. He tended to talk too much when he was happy and sated.

“Draco, you do that too. It’s what I like about you. One of the things, anyway. Maybe you’re a little more selective, but you protect what you care about.”

“I almost messed everything up with us though, second guessing myself,” Draco replied, feeling guilty and grateful at once.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t in the end though. I might have ended up with Savio or something. We went on a date, you know,” Harry admitted.

“Magnus Savio? Oh, well I hope he doesn’t like his job at the Ministry too much,” Draco deadpanned, studying his nails. “Something tells me the DMM is downsizing and he’s first on the chopping block.”

“You’re not serious!” Harry laughed and sat upright. “You’re not… Are you?”

Draco merely shrugged, and pushed Harry back down onto the bed.

______

“Are we actually doing this?” Draco asked, as he adjusted his tie in the mirror for the tenth time that morning. He was sweating profusely, and Malfoy’s didn’t sweat in public.

“We don’t have to. We could just run away together.” Harry wrapped his arms around Draco from behind, resting his head on Draco’s shoulder.

“Really? You’d still have me?” Draco asked, smiling earnestly.

“I’d have you any way you’d let me.” Harry kissed his neck gently.

Draco looked down at the ring on his left hand, a tiny ruby and diamond adorning the silver band. 

“I know you would.” He took a deep breath. “And that’s exactly why we should do this; it’s important to you, you’re important to me, and I’ve waited my whole life to make my parents this angry.”

“I love you so much, I’ll let it slide that you’re only doing this to upset the Malfoy bloodline.” 

“I love you so much, I’ll marry you in front of everyone we know, and wear this ring, and probably adopt fifteen children, ten crups, and three toads to make you happy,” Draco said, turning and pressing their foreheads together.

“I know you would,” Harry responded, grinning. “And that’s exactly why we should do this.”

“I literally just said that, you ignoramus.” Draco grabbed his tie and pulled him into a sweet kiss. 

It was all the assurance Draco needed.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Impossibilities_ draws **heavily** from the movie _What If_ , directed by Michael Dowse and starring Daniel Radcliffe and Zoe Kazan. I love this movie, though Dan Rad doesn’t jive with the idea I have of Harry in my head. The title was inspired by Lauren Eden's poem, "I am in love with the impossibility of us." 
> 
> This fic is unbeta’d, and all mistakes are my own and/or Grammarly’s. 
> 
> ...Also, obviously I do not own anything about Harry Potter or _What If_. But that would be pretty cool.


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